Damien Franklin

Shutting down the enchantments that bound and powered the gargoyles was simple. Not too far off from pulling a plug free actually, just in a metaphorical sense. And, several dozen of them as well. He didn’t want to destroy the apparatus. It was a wonder, but the everlasting swarm of living stone needed to be stopped so the Sixty could search for the Gate.

Damien was, with Anastasia’s intuitive insights, able to follow most of its inner workings. The stylings of the magic were old enough and divergent enough to be called an artifact in his opinion. It was much cruder than the refined rune work powering The Pit, but there were impressive leaps of genius underpinning the marvel. Perfectly, if haphazardly, carved and cast into a work of art.

Such a shame I can not take it with me, sighed the obsidian thaumaturgist. A moment of silence in memoriam dragged out before he deadened the right channels to shut off the bloody device.

The city heaved and rumbled when their work was finished. In quivers and mad jerks, strange formations burst out of the streets. The very stones of the city rebelled at the defacement. The blood within the orb slurried in reflection of the shifting walls and floor. Everything around them gained a waxy texture as features lost definition.

All around them, the stone began to melt.

Above them, the ceiling drooped as the walls began to crumble. Their feet shifted or sunk as even the ground became unpredictable. To Damien’s eyes, the magic had gone wild and self-destructively lashed out in escalating waves. He realized every stone in the city was connected to the core of blood. A massive oversight. Now each and every party was rebelling against solidity.

A woman in armor screamed as the floor beneath her feet gave out into a slurry of stone that poured into the pit that housed the core. Every effort to pull her free was fizzled out as Mana lost cohesion at the center of the meltdown. No one risked a physical hand in fear of falling in too.

Her suffering was abruptly cut off in a flare of scarlet light.

“RUN! GET OUT!” roared Malachi, no one argued.

In a dozen directions, the Sixty sprinted for the nearest exits. Everyone tried to stick with their parties, but escape was the higher priority. Some of the tunnels were already pinched off by the shifting melt. Gigantic raindrops of liquid stone fell as the stone sky rapidly approached.

Several groups found their escape routes rapidly diminishing to pinpricks by the time they arrived. Warner used a brute strength route to solve the problem, in pulling earthy Mana to his fist before releasing an explosive impact. The wall of the dome blew out like clay. On the other side, Russel sank slowly into the floor as his power held an entire arc of exits clear. Damien hoped the earth mage knew what he was doing. The ceiling was less than thirty feet high now.

The obsidian thaumaturgist’s last sight of the inside was a grotesque face forming around the core pit. Its features furrowed in a hateful shriek.

Within the mouth, scarlet light rippled with painful shades.

Outside was far worse. A nightmare.

Like overhot wax sculptures, the entire city was melting and millisecond giants were trying to rise out of the liquid stone. Everything heaved and swirled into each other. Only the walls lining the city held together. A solid barrier to chaos, and the only steading landmark.

Damien joined Malachi in sending up single flares to pull everyone together. The gardens around the dome were a temporary safe zone. The soil wasn’t connected to the core, but the stone flows crept like lava toward them from every direction. Their time here would need to be limited before the mayhem found its way to them again.

Observing the ovulation of the collapsing dome, he thought it was their main threat. There was too much organization to the melting. By sight and sense, there were subtle signs of form. The core was somehow still partially active.

The Sixty huddled close together in a mix of constrained panic and calm preparation. Facing death was nothing new, but it had been weeks since anyone had died. Yet their numbers were clearly more diminished than what Damien had witnessed himself. Assuming Russel wouldn’t reappear, seven didn’t escape the dome.

Malachi was suddenly at his side, eyes wild with contained anger. “What the hell happened? I thought you were disabling it!”

Damien’s eyes dropped to his toes in shame. “I do not know. To all appearances, it was a simple shutdown and disconnect procedure. There was nothing to suggest this kind of backlash. It is as if a spiritual force retaliated to my efforts. Or really, is retaliating. I am sorry, there must have been more that I could not see. I was overconfident.”

“No, Damien I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put this all on you. We were all overconfident, too willing to rush. Of course, the device powering the gargoyles would need more time to study. All of us, together, jumped the gun and are paying the price. Some more than others.”

“He is correct,” agreed Molly before adding, “When you finished there was a burst of curse-like energy. Emotion really, bitterness I would say. The Sisters were moving before any of us on instinct. Evelyn put it as “something fucking hateful woke up and is not happy about it.” Take that however you like, but leaving the city should be done with haste.”

“Absolutely,” replied Malachi. “Searching for the Gate can wait until this madness plays out, or we gain a better handle on this.”

The two of them moved away from Damien, falling into a mummer of planning. His attention was falling inwards. He trusted them to make the plans, to see all of the SIxty(or the rest) through this unexpected crisis.

Yet, their words had not absolved the guilt on his part for this chaos.

I triggered this! What a fool I am! What, what ah ah an ASSHOLE! I thought I had seen everything, but clearly, there was more. Molly said a burst of curse energy… I sensed nothing! This can not stand! A hole in my knowledge can not be allowed! This is my fault, I was so confident in disabling it. Their faith in me has deluded us both.

Living up to that expectation, that is cause I will never fail again.

John Harken

They ran. The Sixty fled for the walls. There was nothing fancy to this plan. Charge, then blast and defend against anything that got in their way. The land roiled with the amorphous shifting of buildings. Like the fog of the past taking form before falling into itself.

There were faces in the slurry of stone. Harken marked them with the repulsion of a human’s natural recognition. Human enough for notice, but horribly malformed.

Hateful and grotesque.

Their number was increasing with every passing second, an unignorable omen of the city's loathing for outsiders. The priestly man worried not at all about his dignity as he ran. Nor restrained his use of Mana. He cast every buff at his disposal and used his offense spells at a moment's notice. There could be no hesitation when a second wasted meant a tidal wave of stone crashing down on them.

A moan rose up behind them. Harken flinched, and looked behind him. There was a clear view of the source despite the undulating landscape. Nothing to obscure a perfect picture since Malachi’s party held the rear.

No one between them and a beeswax figure rising from the storm of stone.

It couldn’t decide on a single form. Thousands of hideous faces twisting against each other, consuming and melding together. An ever-changing amalgamation of features. Grasping claws tore at the sky in a dozen directions as the figure hastily tossed an abominable humanoid form together. Braiding the competing limbs together.

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Slowly a massive gargoyle was pulling free of the quaking city. Every false breath pulled in more slurry material to swell its size. Gigantic going on titanic. The city calmed behind their frantic retreat as the threat behind them grew.

Harken’s eyes swung several times between his people and the collected horror of the city. Calculation running down to the obvious conclusion. Distance through the undulating landscape was against them nor was time on their side.

With a calm, committing breath, the priestly man recast every mass blessing and sent them on with a silent prayer. His steps slowed, and then Harken turned towards the solidifying horror.

Clarissa appeared at his side. The kitten normally on her shoulder nowhere in sight.

“Don’t worry, I made sure no one else noticed our little slow down,” she said in answer to his raised eyebrow. “Without my cloaking, you’d have not gotten away without at least a lecture.”

Harken hummed in thanks. “Does that mean you’re joining me?”

“Yeah, someone needs to slow that thing, and sacrifice plays aren’t in Malachi’s wheelhouse. The two of us should do wonders, though.”

Grinning, “I was hoping for something miraculous myself.”

“Whatever floats your boat, priest. As long as it's only messy for ugly over there.”

They shared a smile. One wild, one calm, but both contained the frantic energy of suppressed fear. Both knew they had chosen death. All hopes aside, this rearguard action would send them through the veil, no matter how temporary.

Dying was the end of this day for them.

There wasn’t a need for further talk. This was a suicide mission and distraction was the only objective. Through the nightmare scape of unstable images, the two of them rushed towards the monstrous gargoyle. It continued to absorb the city as they maintained a diagonal approach. Pausing only when a charge at them would not be a charge directly towards the Sixty.

The archer gave him a saucy salute and disappeared further into the alien landscape. She would circle further around before the assault would begin. A second direction would hopefully add to the confusion of their distraction. It would also keep them from being taken out in one go.

Green flashed in the distance. The signal.

Harken took in a long breath like it was the last. His staff raised and struck the ground. White tinged with gold flashed. A circle of golden writing appeared around his feet. It remained steady, unaffected by the shifting stone. The words came to him as he asked.

“By right of action, I am Purpose,

By an act of faith, I am Divine,

Wholly accepting, Wholly devoted

I am Blessed.”

“Every Breath is a Miracle,

Every Day is a Gift,

For them, No Greater Reward,

I am the Shepherd.”

“Should a Shadow Appear,

Should A Menace Threaten,

Nothing Halts My Protection,

I Am Wrath Divine.”

“Protector’s Divine Glory.”

Ethereal wings exploded from his back, six spanning into the sky. Encircling the heart of the raging city, but somehow also only at his back. A halo of golden flames formed behind Harken. He raised a hand to the great gargoyle, pointing. One wing lit up.

Chains burst out of the air from every direction and bound the creature within the dome of celestial feathers. Though the abominable thing was only semi-solid, the chains were unrelenting in their restraint. Ever shifting to keep the unstable gargoyle hedged in. Light poured out of the links and seared the liquid stone. Bleeding way Mana at a fast enough rate to make it visible to the naked eye as steam.

The second wing began to shine.

A spear descended from the sky. One speck of light shimmering until the moment of impact. Darkness became light as an explosion froze the entire city’s insanity. A million voices howled in anguish. Cohesion of the stone abomination faltered, the holy light lingering as it ate at the terror.

With great strain, the third wing ignited. Blood burst in his right eye, red tears flowed down his cheek as a sun appeared in the sky. It hovered in the sky, blinding and brilliant. The air roared as the ball of fire began to fall. The city-sized gargoyle thrashed with a thousand limbs to escape but the chain still would not let the monster loose.

Slowly the sun crashed into the abomination, flattening it, crushing it into the burning ground. Heat flashed upon his face as the liquid stone melted in truth. An orange glare covered everything.

There was silence when the sun winked out. The city at the heart of the feathered dome was a pit of molten stone. Faces bubbled in screaming outrage, but nothing concrete could form before collapsing upon itself. The chains had shifted to an overlay that bound the living magma to that spot.

Harken reached for the fourth wing, Mana already surging at the thought. Not enough, his mental grasp too weak to force enough. The backlash was brutal, raging through him in rejection. His wings vanished as the priestly man collapsed to his knees with a bloody hacking fit.

Crimson fluid splashed through his covering hands. Uncomfortably thick and clouted.

The chains faded away and the area was no longer contained as Harken fought to stand back up. Struggled to keep from fading out. His staff got him up and became a necessary support for things to remain that way with his trembling legs. He only got one eye to open, blood still dribbled from the other. The orange flow rapidly dimmed as the stone cooled.

Wretchedly, the great gargoyle reformed itself with painstaking effort. Slowly forming itself from the cooling stone, but the quality was much worse than before. Unstable wax’s figure to its former shifting horror. Empty sockets glared across the scoured city to find the ragged figure of Harken.

It went from a wavering stance to a crawling charge in an instant. Surging forth in stumbling bursts, as if a child first learning to crawl and then forgetting in the next breath over and over again. Still, through sheer size, the unformed gargoyle made quick progress with each thrashing second. The priestly man trembled, not out of fear, he hadn’t recovered yet to do more than to strain to die standing.

Harken stared down his approaching death with acceptance. His self-appointed task had been to delay and that had been accomplished. Suffering avoided for the price of one life. Not even a final death awaited, well worth his own pain.

I have not seen beyond the veil yet, It will be good to understand. Come horror, I have already won.

He had forgotten entirely about Clarissa.

Their little slice of the world turned green. Stars fell from the sky, arced through the air, and screamed over the land. As if she had packed an hour’s worth of her shooting into a single second. The whole lot pummeled the ragging creatures with varying effects as the impacts forcibly molded its shape. Slowing, but not stopping.

All distractions.

One shot hurled forth at the monster. Massive and siege-worthy.

The great gargoyle saw the green missile and moved to dodge. The trajectory moved in an instant. Not a curve, but a sudden change. As if the arrow had been shot at a completely different point in space. Despite desperate efforts, there was no avoiding the projectile.

It hit. Splattering liquid stone and shattering all structures of a head.

Headless, the monster charged in Clarissa’s direction. A new head budding and a thousand mouths forming across the body to shriek in mindless fury. It slammed the corpses of buildings that the archer had been hiding in.

The next shot came as the gargoyle’s new socketless eyes turned back to Harken. Shattering two limbs this time with a perfect angle.

A quake ran through the ruined city as the monster threw a tantrum. Harken lost his feet again as the rubble erratically began to change. Waves rolled through the broken buildings and debris from the origin of the gargoyle, altering the terrain with each passing.

Harken saw Clarissa become exposed and flee. So did the hulking creature of stone.

Like watching a cat hunt a mouse. She ducked and weaved while the gargoyle tried to smash her into the ground or swipe her out of the air. Quickfire arrows flashed green, but it was all a delaying endeavor. One doomed to fail. Harken saw that Clarissa knew that too. Had they not both come out to do exactly that? Buying more time with the price of the one for the many.

And, time was burned away. The archer lasted far longer than the priestly man expected. A thorn refusing to be plucked away.

A clawed fist slammed the ground and a crude wall of rubble rose in a crescent around Clarissa. She was pinned, Harken tried to reach for anything to help, but still, only dribbles came to him. The distance was so great between them. The archer had used the chase to draw the monster further away from the Sixty. For the attempt, he would lose consciousness for nothing more than a burst of telekinetic power.

If she couldn’t leap free, then there was nothing he could do from here.

Cornered, the chase ended abruptly in a splash of blood.

Harken’s feelings were mixed at the sight. He was unaffected by the great gargoyle turning its attention back to him. Clarissa joined him in this riskless fight, so he shouldn’t regret her death. She had every right to risk herself when he did. Yet the priestly man was mournful. He prayed that the experience wouldn’t hurt her spark for life.

The shadow of the stony beast fell over him. Its unstable form was full of holes and craters where Clarissa’s Mana gleamed against reconstructing. Empty eyes met his. Harken did not smile nor scream at the death sealed for him. He threw no taunts or jeers in a show of bravado. He did not flee nor crawl in a last desperate scramble for a few more seconds of life.

Had he any real strength left it would be spent in a merry chase for more seconds, but that was all drained away.

Instead, the priestly man gathered the meager Mana left to be used into his fist and projected one last attack. A projected punch to the grotesque face, if it noticed, there was no sign. Just one last show of defiance before meeting oblivion.